Imprint
by Preminiscence
Summary: Adam's imprints aren't gone entirely from the minds of the Torchwood Team. Bit by bit, Ianto begins to remember the murderer inside him. May contain violence, language and slight Janto. Request fic for gillian gutfright.
1. Hallucinations

_**A/N: **__About a year ago I agreed to do a request-fic for __**gillian gutfright; **__unfortunately I got a bit perfectionist on it and then proceeded to fear I wouldn't be able to make a believable and interesting enough plot. But here I am, having a go._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Torchwood… that's about all that can be said, really._

**Imprint**

**Chapter One: Hallucinations**

"_Rhys!"_ Gwen called as she hung up her coat. "Rhys?" She repeated when she received no answer, throwing her keys on the table and her bag on the sofa. "I'm home!"

She barely had to glance around the small flat she and Rhys shared before he appeared from an adjoining room, smiling tentavely at her with oven gloves on his hands. Gwen grinned at him, and drew closer to give him a kiss, but he paused, hesitant.

"What?" Gwen asked, frowning. She touched her mouth. "Is there something on my face?"

Rhys' brow furrowed. "No, but I just thought…" Gwen's questioning look encouraged him to continue. "You're feeling better, then?"

"Better?" Gwen pulled back a little, as if to survey Rhys as a whole.

"You know…" Rhys prompted, "your memories? Don't tell me it's happened again? Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

Gwen backed up and sat on the sofa, throwing Rhys a sceptical look. "What do you mean - what about my memories? What have I forgotten? Rhys, _what do you mean?"_

A concerned look flittered across Rhys' face, quickly followed by a scowl. "Bloody _Torchwood_," he muttered, turning back towards the kitchen to retrieve the food he'd been cooking. Gwen wasn't far behind.

"_Rhys… _talk to me, sweetheart." She stood on the other side of the counter and watched him retrieve the risotto, playing absently with the seam of her t-shirt as she did. Eventually Rhys sighed, placed the risotto on a cooling rack and turned his full attention to her.

"Gwen, honey; the day before yesterday you went to work as usual. Then you came back…" Rhys looked uncomfortable. "You didn't recognise me…" His voice was soft and reluctant to continue. "You thought I was stalking you – _me! _A _stalker!_" Rhys seemed to struggle with his next words. "You called _Jack_, told him someone was _pretending_ to be your fiancée, and then he and some ginger-haired smartass came round to sort me out!"

"Wait," Gwen interrupted, disturbed; "ginger-haired…?"

"Yeah!" Rhys shot her a 'are you mad' look. "You remembered _him_ alright."

"But…" Gwen persisted, "none of us have ginger-hair. Or ever _have_ had. Or ever _will_, for that matter."

"Yeah, well, I didn't recognise him either," Rhys grumbled. "You said his name was Adam. First Jack, now Adam! Who next, mmm? That doctor bloke?"

"What doctor bloke?" Gwen frowned, "_the _Doctor or Owen?"

Rhys gestured in such a way as if to indicate that matter's unimportance. "Black hair, sarky grin."

"Owen."

Rhys paused, "you sure? Not that other guy, erm; Ianto was it?"

Gwen shook her head. "Nope, definitely Owen."

Rhys looked thoughtful for a moment, and then up at Gwen. "What I was trying to say, was that you forgot me, Gwen. Forgot _us_." There was a hurt look in his eyes that Gwen struggled to remember causing.

"I… oh, _Rhys. _I'm _sorry…" _Gwen drew Rhys close to her and tucked her face into the crook of his neck possessively. "But it's all sorted now, right? Everything's back to normal." She smiled a little into his neck, her voice slightly muffled.

"Torchwood? _Normal?" _Rhys huffed in disbelief. "I'm sorry; I don't think you're speaking English."

"_No," _Gwen grinned, the beautiful Welsh language coating her voice; _"I'm speaking Welsh."_

* * *

The Torchwood Hub was beginning to delve into that strange, eerie silence it seemed to hold when everyone had departed for the night. Soon after the Team had awoken to find themselves - minus Jack - gathered around the Conference Table they'd slowly begun to head home. They didn't find it particularly strange that they were all simultaneously asleep, as after a quick systems check by Toshiko (which came up with obviously deleted files of the last few days and a Torchwood block that Tosh recognised they weren't supposed to bypass), they determined that it was better if they just labelled it 'Torchwood' and left it at that. Jack (coming from the direction of the Cells, although no-one commented on this) dismissed them all and told them they could come in a little later tomorrow if they so wished (no-one except Gwen looked particularly enthusiastic about this, so Jack merely shrugged and told them the option was there).

Gwen was the first to have headed home, frowning as she checked her phone messages and mumbling something like 'oh, bollocks' and 'Rhys'. Soon after Owen - of whom Tosh had been idly waiting for, although he didn't pick up on this - declared that he was going now, and would probably just be here as usual, as he had nothing better to do. They left together, Owen and Tosh, though she looked slightly more interested in their casual conversation than Owen did.

That only left Ianto and Jack, who - as per usual - slept and lived in Torchwood; so all that was left was for Ianto to go home, but he seemed to be lingering between a mix of reluctance and something Jack wasn't quite sure he could name.

"Waiting to get the correct measurements for your diary?" Jack grinned cheekily, scooting up beside Ianto on the worn couch.

Ianto's cheeks visibly darkened for a moment, his fingers gripping his diary protectively; "I don't have a tape measure, " he substituted in place of a proper reason why he was still hanging about - but since when did he need to give a reason to want to be with Jack?

"That can be amended," Jack's voice lowered and he leaned a little closer to Ianto. "But are you sure that's the _only_ reason why you're here…?"

Resisting Jack-induced-seduction was one of Ianto's many quirks, and although he didn't use this one in particular with very much frequency, in this moment it was most definitely needed.

"Jack, _I…" _Ianto trailed off, unsure, and Jack's expression changed to serious as he noted Ianto's solemn tones.

"What is it?" He asked; worry flickering across his face at Ianto's frowning brow.

"I don't know. Something's been niggling at me ever since we woke up."

"Whatever the reasons for us being asleep, they're better left alone," Jack warned, fearing the curiosity of his team-mates.

"That's not it," Ianto muttered, intently focused on the cover of his diary. "It's like I've forgotten something… and not how it might be with retcon, when a couple of days or hours are missing and you wonder how you can't remember… it's different. Like I've forgotten a part of myself."

A dark look crossed Jack's face, but then it was gone, and he was smiling again. "You just need to relax, Ianto. Go home, have some coffee, _sleep. _It can't have been very comfortable on that table."

Ianto was obviously not reassured. "Can't I stay here, with you?"

Jack shook his head and helped Ianto to his feet, flashing him a purely 'Jack' grin. "You'd never get any sleep that way."

And with that the last of Jack's team was heading home.

* * *

Ianto Jones' method of getting to and from Torchwood was - like other things he did - organised. However, he did not currently own a car, and for two perfectly good reasons. The first was that the SUV was far too much trouble by itself, what with Owen's off-roading and frequented uses of duct tape. The second was the inconvenience it caused. Whenever Torchwood needed to get anywhere, they used the SUV. Gwen had a car, but he obviously wasn't Gwen; he also didn't live particularly far from the Hub, having moved closer when he had Lisa (in her Cyber-form) to take care of. He'd later moved closer still, if only to rid himself of the memories associated loosely with the place.

A house seemed inconvenient somehow, as if owning a property you only visit when necessary or when ordered to by Jack would just been irresponsible and pointless. So he had a flat, and he walked to it.

The direct route to his flat was long and - although potentially relaxing - rather tedious unless your thoughts were preoccupied. Ianto was in a thought-delving state of mind, but as such was the depth and intensity, he wanted nothing more than to do exactly as Jack had suggested before doing more self-searching. Rest, coffee, _think._ So he took the indirect route, which was usually best avoided as sometimes the 'trail', as it were, led down some rather run-down streets (or alleys, for want of accuracy). Ianto, being clad in suit and tie, did not look the sort to be hanging about alley-ways. But he was in a hurry, and did not rightly care. He fought _aliens; _and although humans possessed twice the capacity to do evil he wasn't really concerned about them, at least not for the time being.

Ianto usually travelled without luggage, for example - a bag. He left his diary concealed at the Hub most days, preferring to write in it within the spare moments he caught there, with his immediate thoughts, than pass a potentially-incriminating (of Torchwood) book around with him back and fro. It would almost be the same as if someone made a collective file of Torchwood's personnel and cases, labelled it 'Archive' and sold it to all good retailers. Ianto inwardly scoffed to himself. Like Torchwood wouldn't notice if _that _happened.

He was most of the way home when he noticed that there was another pair of footsteps joining his own. They were almost in sync, which explained why his musing mind hadn't picked up on them until now, but there they were - distinct; click, clack. Heels. A woman's. Tilting his head to the side a little, as if to glance down the alley to his left, Ianto saw the slightly nervous form of a young woman - barely past adolescence - out of the corner of his eye. She was shooting wary glances at him, occasionally turning to look back or fiddling with her bag anxiously. The two of them were alone in the alley, and she was nervous because there was no-one around and no-where to run.

'_An easy target,' _Ianto's mind provided before he could check his thoughts. What? Why'd he thought that? He wasn't like that, he wouldn't… _'Really? Don't be so sure.'_

Without realising, Ianto had stopped to a dead halt, breathing deeply. He could hear the frantic breaths of the woman behind him. He wanted to be able to comfort her, but his treacherous thoughts and his common sense devised otherwise.

**Part of him wanted to turn around. **Part of him wanted to walk away. **Part of him wanted to stalk up to her. **Part of him wanted to be out of this alley, right now. **Part of him wanted to ask her if she was alright. Was she lost? She was going the wrong way to the high street. Maybe she would follow him, so he might show her the way? **Slowly, calmly, begin walking, towards the high street. **Polite smile. Fake ID. Security card from last undercover work. Offer to leave if she's uncomfortable. Look at watch. 'I have to get back to my wife. Do you have anyone you can call?' **Go. Now. **She smiles. Follows. Smile. Follow. Smile. Follow. **GO NOW. **Right into his-**RUN NOW!

* * *

He can't think. It's dark in his flat, and he's out of breath.

He ran all the way.

Ran from _her._

Because part of him wanted to hurt her.

This wasn't like him.

This wasn't… _Ianto Jones._

Or was it?

Was _that_ the part of him he's forgotten?

That disgusting, _twisted… _that was _him?_

"_No."_

Ianto's eyes flickered open. That was Jack's voice. Was he here? Ianto got up from the floor unsteadily (when did he get down there?), reaching up to deftly flip the switch for the lights.

"Jack?"

No answer. Ianto frowned, and then looked down at his right hand, which was clutching something. It was… _his diary. _Ianto dropped it as if burnt. No. He'd left that behind. He hadn't had it when he left the Hub, or in the alley. So _why_ was it _here?_

Ianto closed his eyes, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. One, two, three. He opened his eyes.

The diary… was gone.

'_Maybe Jack was right,' _Ianto's mind murmured to himself. _'Maybe I do need rest. Maybe I'm just… _hallucinating.'

That feeling of absence he'd had since he last awoke had dulled now, but it was like an itch. Or scarabs, devouring his mind from the inside… Shaking off the thought, Ianto made his way into the kitchen, intending to make coffee. Maybe he'd consult Jack tomorrow, or maybe he'd just forget the situation overnight… whatever he did, Ianto blocked the events of the alley from his mind and began to concoct his special coffee blend.

_**A/N: So, what did you think? I'd really like to hear your opinions : ) I've got a basic plan outlined :D**_

_**gillian gutfright, I hope this was somewhat near what you were hoping for. Sorry it took so long for me to begin… :/**_

_**The 'Archive' thing Ianto scoffs at is the Torchwood Archive book : ) I love it, and would find it hilarious if Jack found this blatant security risk :D Scarabs in refernce to **_**the Mummy. **_**I don't own that, either.**_

_**So, evil!Ianto. Mwahahaha. Where will this take us, I wonder…? *ponders***_


	2. Borderline

_**A/N: **__*squees!* Reviews! I'm glad you like it, __**gillian gutfright! Bad Mood Comfy Jim-Jams **__and __**Cyber-ianto**__, thank you too! Oh, and for alerters and fav'ing people, hi! And thanks! : )_

_And… on with the story!_

**Chapter Two: Borderline**

The heavy cog wheel of the Torchwood Hub rolled back to admit the first team-member of the day. Jack - who had been shaking the coffee machine desperately - slipped into the shadows and crept swiftly back to his office, which was exactly where Ianto (frequently the first to arrive) found him moments later.

"Good morning, Ianto!" Jack beamed cheerfully, absently shuffling some 'well-read' papers around on his desk and stretching, as if he'd been sitting hunched over his desk for an extended period of time.

"Jack." Ianto fixed Jack with his 'I'm being serious now so don't start hitting on me' look, and shot a meaningful look at the papers on Jack's desk. "Why were you sneaking around like some sort of ninja?"

'_Ah. So he noticed.' _"I…" Jack's eyes flickered around the room until they fixed themselves on yesterday's coffee cup. "I was getting a drink! But then I heard you come in, so I thought I'd wait for you to do your coffee rounds instead."

Ianto raised a sceptical eyebrow, gesturing to the papers. "Why were you pretending to read then?"

Jack glared at the now-incriminating papers, scooping them up into a messy pile and shoving them aside. "I didn't want you to think I'd been doing nothing… productive." He grinned. "I have to set an example, after all."

Ianto - who had been neatly rearranging the messy pile whilst Jack had been speaking - frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Oh, I can see that," he said, brandishing a two-week old report. "I'll get the coffee now, then?"

Before Jack could say anything else, Ianto was gone from the room. Just as he was relaxing - from whatever tense thoughts he'd been having - at the thought of Ianto's special coffee brew, he was suddenly struck by a deep-rooted feeling of dread.

"Ianto! Wait!" Jack leapt out of his seat, and raced towards the coffee machine, where Ianto was looking quizzically at him. "I, uh…" Jack began, taking Ianto by the elbow and drawing him away from the machine in the most subtle manner he could manage. "I'd like something different to drink today… like water! Spring water! We're all drinking far too much coffee and we're becoming reliant on caffeine, so it has to stop! Spring water for everyone, Ianto. You, me, Gwen, Adam, Owen, Tosh-"

"Adam?" Ianto interrupted, frowning again. "Who's Adam? A new addition? You didn't say anything about someone else joining us."

Jack paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "No… I don't know why I said that. I must be thinking of a Torchwood member from the past." Remembering why he was drawing Ianto away from the coffee machine, he added; "in fact, I'd like you to dig up all the personnel files on anyone called Adam. And take your time - I don't want to overwork you." He pressed a sweet, chaste kiss on Ianto's lips, and then began to lead him towards the basement.

"Wait, Jack," Ianto stopped, moving in front of Jack and looking him straight in the eye; "what did you do to the coffee machine?"

"Ah," Jack's eyes widened minutely. "I didn't do anything to it. What makes you think that? You haven't used it today."

"No," Ianto admitted, "but you hate bottled spring water, and there's a screwdriver sticking out of the liquid dispenser."

'_Damn.' _Jack tried his best to look remorseful over the machine, knowing Ianto was quite fond of using it for quick cups when no-one wanted him to spend eons on the perfect coffee blend. "I didn't want to make you mad, Yan. I was going to replace it tonight."

Ianto's expression softened. "I can fix it just as well as anyone. I added a few extras with Tosh's help. If you threw it out, who knows what coffee-wrecking havoc could be unleashed." Ianto smiled. "I'll find Adam in the Archives, and then I'll fix the coffee machine."

Jack grinned, "deal." And, watching Ianto make his way expertly into the basement that even Jack couldn't navigate as well, he realised this was part of the reason why he… _well, _why they were so _compatible. _Yes, that was the word… compatible… wasn't it?

* * *

The damp, cool gloominess of the basement felt rather soothing to Ianto, as he made his way through the various dark passages to where the sealed, air-tight Archives resided.

He couldn't remember exactly why, but whenever he reviewed yesterday over in his head, he felt a certain sense of foreboding and secretism. He felt slightly betrayed that his mind was being so obviously clandestine against him, and whatever illicit nothing he couldn't recall from the day before. _Adam _had rung a bell, though - it should do, anyway, as when Ianto had re-sorted the Archives into a better system (Jack was the definition of disorganised when it came to records) he'd nearly seamlessly memorised as much of the Archive as was deemed useful (and even parts of it that weren't). When Jack had said 'Adam' though, he'd felt… _something. _Akin to loathing, but smothered in-

_Smothered._

Something hit Ianto so hard he gasped and had to reach for the wall to steady himself. It hadn't been physical - it'd been more like a mental overload. Blinking furiously at the image burned into the forefront of his memory, he realised that even when his eyes were closed or his head turned away, it was still there.

He was staring into the frozen, fear-induced eyes of a paling woman. One thick, gloved hand was wrapped over her nose and mouth, the other grasping her tightly, enough to hurt. She was writhing, trying to scream but he was too strong. She was weakening, second by second; dying by his hand.

But that wasn't the worst of it. The image of himself wasn't coursing with hate or regret - he was enjoying it. He was happy, impossibly happy to be murdering this woman. It was less like he _needed_ to kill her, and more like he _wanted _to. A flicker of thought crossed through this inexplicable link - this _memory - _feeling sick to his very bones, Ianto realised that this wasn't pre-meditated. The killing itself had been a mere whim, because he was bored and he wanted to. He didn't know her. She just happened to be walking past and he decided it would be fun to kill her. He would memorise everything about her death. How her flimsy attempts to struggle depleted. How her breaths came short and quick, and then short and drawn out; and then not at all. How the small, flickering light in her eyes grew hollow and dull. He would remember it all - because he liked it.

The rough surface of the wall beneath his fingertips broke through the numbness stiffening his body, and he pushed back, legs weak as he tried to focus on the hallway around him. Ianto bent forward, hands on his knees, breathing deeply as his senses returned to him. _'Where am I? I'm… on my way to the Archives. Who am I?' _Ianto didn't know how to answer that one. He used to be able to answer quite simply, and with conviction and absolute certainty as to his identity. He used to be able to say 'I am Ianto Jones, of Torchwood Three. I make coffee and once gave Jack an undercover name-card saying "Mr. Big" on it'; but now it wasn't so simple. Was that _real?_ Was he… did he…?

Straightening himself, Ianto started to continue his journey towards the Archives. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling this _'Adam' _might have some answers.

_**A/N: Okay, I realise this was a tad short. You *could* call it a filler chapter, but it's pretty essential. I don't want to suddenly jump into a chapter and have Ianto go 'I am killer, die!' lol. But don't worry, morally-confused identity-troubled Ianto is steadily emerging (Ianto: No, no, take your time).**_

_**I don't know how many chapters this should have… what do you peeps think? : ) I hope you still found this chappie interesting, despite it seeming like I'm being really, really slow. Once I've finished my other Torchwood fic I should be able to write more and with increased frequency, not being able to worry about finishing that one *sighs*. But leave a review if you want (I love them), and I'll get started on the next chappie whilst you read :D**_

_**(Ps. I must also warn you that I haven't watched Adam - or any TW eps - in quite a while, so please tell me if I start screwing up the timeline if it obviously doesn't fit in with the plot :D)**_


End file.
